Sixteenth Summer
by yabooklover
Summary: Beatrice Prior is a stubborn girl, fresh out of school and living in a small, sleepy Southern town on her family's honeybee farm. It's her sixteenth summer, but she wants nothing more than an opportunity for change and escape. Her family has just employed a new worker to repair the house: Tobias Eaton from the big city. Will he offer her a chance to gain freedom?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Divergent Trilogy or any of its characters, rights belong to Veronica Roth. **

**Hello all :-) **

**For those of you who have been following my other story 'Jaded', you'll all know that's coming to an end and I've been planning this new story for a while, so here it finally is. **

**The summary pretty much says it all, but I just want to add that I've rated it T for scenes of violence (later on), minor coarse language, and adult themes. I doubt that the rating will change, but it's hard to say when I haven't written the full story yet. Of course, I will let you all know in advance if this fic gets bumped up to an M rating. **

**I also want to say a _huge_ thanks to BK2U for not only editing this first chapter, but for helping me pull all my crazy ideas for this story together and get it in some kind of order. **

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 1<span>

The field is vast, where we met,

On the hot summer's day.

The field is vast, where we said goodbye,

On the hot summer's night.

Summer nights have always been her favourite. Beatrice sets her notebook down on her lap, clicks the top of her pen, and pokes it through the blonde bun at the back of her head. She likes to write, mainly poetry, although she isn't really very good at it. Kicking the shoes off her feet, she crosses her legs and leans back to perch on the wooden porch swing. She swings it by jolting her body back and forth slightly, being lulled by both the motion and the gentle creaking.

A small smile etches her face when she takes in her surroundings. The honeybee farm on which she lives is familiar, quiet, and peaceful. The sounds of crickets, rustling bushes, and hooting owls mingle together, ringing through the blanket of darkness that's only slightly illuminated by moonlight. The stars shine through the clear sky, adding to the felicity of the place. The land here is simple, vast, yet riddled with memories and possibilities. Their colonial house stands directly in the middle of it all, shabby and in desperate need of repair. It has stood here since the very beginning, way before the Prior family arrived. Facing the house is an acre of empty field. At the bottom of that field, behind the tall trees, is where all the magic happens. The family tends to call the area 'The Sheds' since there are a bunch of outhouses where the tools and bees are kept, including a couple of small guesthouses. If you walk down there at night, and listen _really_ closely, then you'll be able to hear the gentle sounds of the small babbling brook that streams along the outskirts of the family's land. It leads to a larger and much deeper patch of water downhill, where Caleb and the other kids used to play in the summer. Beatrice never did, though.

"Beatrice, it's time to get a bath and go to bed," Edith says. She's standing in the front doorway, the light from the hallway surrounding her figure causing her to look almost angelic. She has a sweet voice; a sweet nature, too.

"Can't I have five more minutes, Grandma?" Beatrice begs, attempting to put on the best, most innocent smile she can muster. Edith laughs lightly, stepping out onto the porch to take the notebook out of Beatrice's lap. She flicks through, reading what the young girl has just written.

"No, but you'll have plenty more time for dreaming while you sleep."

"I wasn't dreaming, I was writing," she says, pointedly. Her family doesn't take the things she engages in seriously. They say that Beatrice is a dreamer but never a doer, and sometimes they're right. Sometimes, her head is stuck in the clouds and it takes one hell of a hefty force to drag her back to planet earth again. Perhaps they think she's a little dim, but that would be because they've never looked close enough to realise she's just looking for some kind of escape.

"Writing is for school, and you're finished with that now," Edith says. Beatrice thinks it's unfair that she had to finish school at sixteen. Her parents pulled both her and her brother out so that they could start working on the farm. She thinks it's even more unfair that their stupid town allows that to happen. But it's a common practice with the farm children around here. The town they live in is small and old-fashioned, and so are the mayor and the governing body. Most of the time, Beatrice thinks that the rest of the word has forgotten that they even exist.

"Fine," she huffs, sitting up from her seat and kicking her shoes off before she walks into the house.

"That's it," Edith smiles. "Early day tomorrow; the new kid is arriving at noon."

—0—

The next morning, she wakes up to her brother plopping down onto her bed, attempting to shove breakfast toast into her mouth. She protests, mumbling and whining whilst burying her head deeper into her pillow and pulling the blankets up further. Caleb's always been rather irritating. "We've gotta get up and go to the store," he says, tugging on her shoulder.

"Why?"

"Because, I offered for us to go so that Mom and Dad wouldn't have to. Mom's waiting here for a delivery and Dad's heading out of town to direct the new maintenance guy into the village."

"Has he never heard of a map?" Beatrice snorts, pulling herself out from under the covers and picking up yesterday's clothes from the floor. She pulls on her shorts and slips a hoodie over her pyjama shirt.

"You know that maps are pretty useless when it comes to finding your way to The Three T's," Caleb smiles. The real name for the small town that they live in is Abnegation. It's situated in the rural Deep South, near the border between Mississippi and Alabama, secluded and relatively unheard of except for the people who live there. It was founded and named by a few families several generations ago. Since they were little, though, Beatrice and Caleb have called it a much better name— The Three T's: Tiresome, Tiny, Traditional.

"Where is he from?"

"Chicago, apparently. But he's spent some time travelling around since then," Caleb shrugs.

"It's a little weird. I don't ever remember someone new coming here, unless they were just passing through or looking for gas."

"Tell me about it."

Within the next couple of hours, the two siblings successfully complete the grocery shopping at Al's store. They go there twice a week; the place is run by a father and son team, Big Al and Little Al. Although Little Al isn't exactly little anymore. As always, Caleb carries the heaviest bags. She'll never admit it, but the fact that he insists on doing that whenever the family goes shopping irritates her. Beatrice would love to snap back and tell him that she's capable of carrying her own weight, not to mention that she'd like to prove he isn't the only selfless one around here. She'd happily carry the heavy bags just so neither he nor her parents would have to. Their feet ache on the walk back, her brother muttering "inbreds" under his breath when they pass the kids tumbling out of the church. Beatrice knows that he just doesn't like them because of their insanely traditional and old-fashioned views on life, plus their adamant rejection of the modern sciences. Now, though, they're both in the kitchen, filling the refrigerator and the cupboards and throwing out the spoiled food that they never got around to eating. Once they're done with that, Caleb scurries out of the kitchen and Beatrice is left to face the pile of pots sitting in the sink.

"Caleb, I need your help with the drying," she shouts from the kitchen. She stands in the doorway for a minute, frozen, listening to the sound of her brother's footsteps stomping around upstairs. Soon, he comes jogging back down the stairs, albeit slightly out of breath. "What were you doing?" She asks, confused.

"Just had something I needed to check on the computer in the attic," he walks past her casually, pulling out a chair from the pine table that sits in the middle of the kitchen.

"That old thing? Surprised it still works," Beatrice laughs, walking back in the room to plug the sink and pull on a pair of rubber gloves. They can't really get their hands on the latest technology around here, unless they decide to travel out of town, which their parents hardly ever let them do. She's been out of Abnegation once in her life, and that was to see a specialist doctor about a problem she had with her foot when she was a kid. She doesn't really remember it.

"I did a little tweaking with it, updated some software, it was no biggie."

"How? And why would you bother?"

"That's none of your beeswax," Caleb says, eyebrows raised with a smug little smirk. Beatrice could quite happily throw a wet rag at his head right about now, but all she ends up saying is "you sound like dad when you say that."

Her whole family seems to have a strange obsession with bees and honey and farming. Throw all three into the equation and you've got one very euphoric set of people. Soon enough, the rubber gloves start to irritate her hands in the sweltering summer heat. So she pulls them off and dips her bare delicate hands into the soapy water, picking up a china teacup on the way out. She covers it with soap, careful to use the sponge rather than the scratchy brush to scrub this piece of kitchenware. When she turns around to say something to Caleb, cup still in hand, the door flies open, causing her to practically jump out of her skin and drop the china teacup. Caleb watches it fall to the ground, as if in slow motion, his face agape when it shatters in pieces against the tiles.

"Beatrice!" Caleb exclaims, almost angrily. She drops to her knees, her ears ringing, panicking over the now destroyed family heirloom.

"Not to worry, Caleb," Beatrice hears her mother, Natalie, say in a soothing voice. "It was just one of many." Beatrice is still picking up the scattered pieces of the teacup on her hands and knees when she sees an unfamiliar set of large brown boots shuffle into the kitchen in front of her. She looks up from the ground slowly, to eventually be met with a pair of navy blue eyes towering over her. "Kids, this is Tobias, he'll be working on repairing the house this summer," Natalie says. Tobias outstretches a large hand towards Beatrice, who hesitantly wraps her milky slim fingers around his warm palm. He pulls her up easily enough, and even when she's standing up straight she only reaches his chest.

"Beatrice," she nods, her voice sounding steadier and firmer than she thought it would. She pulls her hand away from Tobias, whose expression remains blank.

"I'm Caleb, it's a pleasure to meet you," her brother says, leaning forward to shake the taller man's hand. Again, Tobias' expression remains pretty blank, only offering a handshake in return and a slight nod of his head. The four of them all stand in awkward silence for a moment until Andrew trails into the kitchen. "Hi Dad," Caleb says.

"Why don't you all stop bothering Tobias so I can give him a tour of the place," Andrew says with a smile. He and Tobias walk out of the door without another word.

"He's _handsome_, isn't he?" Natalie says, pressing her hands against the counter in order to push herself up and look out the back window. She watches Tobias and Andrew walk across the field on their way to the sheds.

"Mom," Caleb utters out of pure disgust, his nose scrunched up just like Beatrice's. Natalie laughs at them, and throws Beatrice a small smile when she notices the blush on her daughter's cheeks. She walks out into the hall, rooting around in the linen closet, and comes back into the kitchen bearing towels and a set of bed sheets.

"Going to set up his guest house?" She asks Beatrice.

"Guest shed, Mom. It's a shed," Caleb says with amusement.

"It's not a shed. I think 'log cabin' would be a better description."

"No, it would be a more _appealing_ description. Definitely not an accurate one."

"I could watch you two argue this out all day," Beatrice says abruptly, interrupting their little charade just to knock Caleb off his high horse. "But some of us have better things to do than argue about _semantics_," she smirks at him.

"Go on then, no need to start teasing each other," Natalie hands Beatrice the linens and ushers her out the front door. She looks around once she's outside, but can't see her father or Tobias anywhere. She treks across the grass field and through the line of trees, automatically feeling at peace when she can hear the faint sounds of the bees and the smell of the foliage rotting from the dry heat on the ground. The wooden door on the little guest house takes some effort to open, since no one's stayed in here for about a year. Once she kicks it open, a thick cobweb falls on top of her head and she bolts into the middle of the room in disgust, slapping and swiping at her hair to get rid of the spider's food trap. Once she's calm and collected, she sighs at the state of the place— thick with dust and clouded by a musky scent. First things first, she takes the plastic sheet off the bed and fits the sheets, wondering how on earth such a tall man is going to fit on this twin bed. There's two beds, so she ends up pushing them both together to give him more room. Then she gets a damp cloth out, ridding the layer of dust and grime from all the woodwork. The small kitchenette is the hardest to clean, since whoever was in here last was clearly a messy cook. It doesn't take her too long to get the job done, and once she's finished and admiring her handiwork the door opens behind her. She whips her head around to come face to face with Tobias.

"Your dad told me this is where I'm staying?" He scratches the back of his neck before straightening his shoulders back up to look at her sternly.

"It is. Fresh sheets, and I just cleaned it all for you," Beatrice says, walking back over to the kitchenette. "You have to flip this switch in order to turn the gas on, then this switch for the heater - not that you'll need it in this heat - but just in case. Um, and if the water isn't working then go out back and fiddle with the pipes and taps. I'm sure you can work it out."

"Thank you...Beatrice, was it?"

"You're welcome," she sighs. "And yes, it is, thanks for remembering," she says, snarky as ever. But when he continues to look at her with a blank expression, she nearly swallows her tongue, regretting her sarcastic little outburst. Her mother always scolds her for her attitude, having explained to her many times that sarcasm is always at someone else's expense. Perhaps her mother is right.

"The name just doesn't fit you, that's all," he says. His voice is deep, yet quiet and subdued, giving the impression that he is reserved. Beatrice herself has only been _taught_ to be reserved—her parents scold her when she back-talks or speaks out of turn. She may look shy and keep her head down, but her voice is surprisingly deep and steady for such a small girl, projecting confidence. Who knows what her personality would develop into if she was left to her own devices.

"Well, maybe one day I'll find a new one."

"Maybe you will," he says. She stares at him for longer than is really appropriate, her blue eyes searching his darker ones. She clears her throat when her lips part, nodding her head slightly before brushing past him and heading out the door. If it weren't for the fact that he had been staring back just as intently, she'd probably be a little embarrassed.

—0—

Flicking through her closet and drawers, Beatrice pushes her school uniform aside since she won't be needing it again. She pulls out a nightshirt, slipping it on before crawling under the sheets. She's about to shut her eyes when she turns over to face her windows and sees the glow of a light emerging from beyond the trees at the end of the field. It's going to be strange, having another person holed up here. Thinking about the mysterious maintenance man gives her a slight headache, for reasons unknown to her. She thinks about what he said regarding her name. No one's ever been that straight with her before; never been that honest. The people in this town are cautious and reserved around one another, only exchanging pleasantries and well-wishes. Her grandmother had explained that it's just the way things work around here, the way people _want_ things to work. Her great-grandparents were lost and poor, and travelled into the town one day because they were told that here they'd be offered help. They came across the abandoned farm, and eventually turned it into the successful honeybee ranch that it is today. Because of this, her family has always respected the town for welcoming them. However, Beatrice doesn't feel that way. She regards it as some sort of cult, forcing its selfless and simple-living ways on its children. Her friend Christina always tells Beatrice "you're meant for a much more exciting world than this one." Perhaps she's right. Beatrice smiles into her pillow, like she does every night, excited for her dreams to come and take her far away from here. But after today, her smile is just a little bit wider.

* * *

><p><strong><span>My tumblr:<span> yabooklover20**

**Also: you'll probably notice I changed Edith Prior so that she's Tris' grandmother. This was done in order to suit my storyline. **

**I will most likely be posting once a week as I have been doing previously, I'm spending a lot of my free time writing this story, so showing your support will be rewarding and much appreciated :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N- I do not own Divergent or it's characters, rights belong to Veronica Roth. **

** - A big thanks BK2U for editing this chapter!**

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 2<span>

He ignored her. Beatrice didn't know what she expected, really, but it definitely wasn't this. She said _good morning_ to Tobias, and all he did was nod his head and turn away, walking off around the back of the house. It was almost perplexing, how his face stayed still as a stone and his eyes were lowered so she couldn't even read them. Her mother gave her an odd look when she pranced out of the house without having a pancake first, and gave her an even odder look when she stomped back in a moment later with a scowl on her face.

Now, Beatrice sits down at the pine kitchen table, her elbow propping up her hand where her head rests. Caleb shuffles into the kitchen, with squinty morning eyes and crumpled pyjamas and tousled hair. He pulls out a chair opposite Beatrice and collapses into it, his nose twitching as he smells the pancakes. "What did you go outside for, Beatrice?" Natalie asks her daughter.

"Nothing," Beatrice mumbles, not wanting to admit to being stung by Tobias' rejection. Her frown lessens when her mother walks over with the frying pan, tilting it over her plate to allow the pancake to slide out onto the shiny ceramic. Caleb scowls at her for whatever reason, and Beatrice picks a blueberry out of the bowl between them and throws it at him—perfect shot, right in the middle of the forehead.

"What was that for?" Caleb complains, picking up the blueberry that fell onto his lap.

"Can you both just at least pretend to get along? I've got enough of a headache as it is," Natalie says, flipping Caleb's pancake over. Beatrice doesn't see the point in pretending, other than the fact it makes life easier for her parents. Siblings are supposed to argue, she thinks, and she's not going to be the one to spoil that tradition any time soon.

"Of course we will," Caleb says, pouring out a glass of orange juice. "I'm taking Beatrice to the library today."

"You are?" Beatrice asks with hopeful eyes.

"Only if you're nice to me," he says and she rolls her eyes at that remark, focusing on cutting up her pancake instead.

They got dressed quickly after breakfast, Beatrice opting for boots, shorts and a loose T-shirt as usual. Her feet always get hot in boots, but it's sensible footwear when you live on a farm—especially one featuring bees. The walk into town is quick and monotonous: she knows this place like the back of her hand and Caleb's boring science talk only makes it worse somehow. The library is tiny; the books tattered and dated. Beatrice has to ask the librarians to order in decent popular books for younger adults, and most of the time they either refuse because they're low on funding, or the book takes months to arrive.

"One book at a time, Beatrice," Caleb scolds moodily, snatching the smaller pretty-looking book out of her hand and putting it back onto the shelf.

"That's not fair, you've got three," she scowls, eyeing his small pile of thick encyclopaedias and textbooks that he doesn't even have a proper reason to need.

"Mom and Dad said it, not me. Because of what happened last time you're only allowed one…you can take another book out once you return that one." The librarian shushes them when the volume of their voices rises, disturbing some of the quiet readers sitting on the small couches in the corner.

"Last time? It was about five years ago, Caleb," Beatrice whispers. They've always come to the library together, and when she was younger, she took a couple—no, a few—books without signing them out first. It was greedy, but also the middle of winter and she didn't have much else to do other than read. Her parents scolded her for being so selfish, of course, telling her that it was unfair to take more books than necessary when other people could be enjoying them instead. Ever since, she's only been allowed to sign out one book at a time. She was hoping that they had forgotten about it, that perhaps they would trust her enough to take out the maximum allowed. But obviously, Caleb is such a rule-follower that he won't even pretend to not notice the smaller book she had tucked underneath the first.

"Just hurry up, I've got to get back to the house."

—0—

Beatrice never asked _why_ Caleb had to rush back to the house, but he ran up to his bedroom and slammed the door shut as soon as they got there. Beatrice put her one and only book on the shelf in the living room for later, her thumb brushing over the creases in the spine. She's broken out of her reverie by the sound of her mother's voice, calling from the kitchen.

"Beatrice, mind seeing to the bees today?" Natalie asks her once she tumbles into the kitchen, slightly out of breath.

"I thought you were calling for an emergency," Beatrice mumbles, grabbing the keys to the sheds and heading out of the front door. Tobias is there, walking around the front porch, examining it. She sits on the floor, legs bent up in front of her, re-lacing her boots before she treks across the field. Tobias glances at her, but only for a second. He's holding a scrap piece of paper, scribbling something down after he brushes his large hand over the peeling woodwork. She presumes he's probably noting down what kind of things he needs to buy in order to fix up the house. She doesn't bother asking for confirmation, though. Tobias doesn't even flinch when Beatrice walks past him, her shoulder only inches away from his arm. She rolls her eyes—how hard is it to say a simple _hello_?

The padlock on the tool shed is rusty and stiff, so it always takes her a while to fiddle with the key and unlock it. She shoves the keys in her back pocket when she's done, walking into the dusty wooden outhouse. The beekeeping outfits are all hung up in here, one to fit each of them. They're white all-in-ones with a huge zip up the front and holes for hands and feet. She fastens the straps around her ankles and wrists tightly, in order to stop any bees from flying up into the garment. Pulling on the hat, she brings the net down to cover her face and the back of her neck, sliding on the sting-proof gloves afterwards. The bees are kept outside, in box-type containers…Beatrice doesn't really pay attention to the technical words and phrases. Today she isn't collecting honey, she's just here to check that everything is going well and that the bees are okay. She lifts up the lid of the first box, tilting her head backwards when a few bees fly out. Being still is more than important, you can't risk upsetting the strangely peaceful creatures. Together, their buzzing creates a loud but gentle humming noise, calming Beatrice and bringing a small smile to her face. She ever so gently pulls a frame out of the box, marveling at the hive the bees have created, and the way that they weave through the octagonal shapes. On each hive she checks, she searches for the queen bee. Caleb seems to spot one every time, but Beatrice is never as lucky. Lowering the frame back into the box is harder than getting it out, and one angry bee swarms around her face in protest. She doesn't swat, of course, since it can't get past the net surrounding her head anyway.

When she's done, she closes up all the boxes and heads back to the tool shed. Tobias is there.

"Do you know where you keep a hand saw around here?" He asks her casually. Her face heats up because she looks like an idiot right now in this stupid beekeeper's outfit, the bright orange net reflecting the sunlight. She struggles to get her tight gloves off, only serving to make matters worse.

"It's hung up at the back, I think," Beatrice says, stepping into the shed and pulling the hat off her head. Tobias nods his head, walking over to the other end of the shed and moving things aside in order to get to the tools that are hanging from rusty bent nails. It's humid in here, and it stinks of sawdust and wood and metal. She unzips her white outfit, trying to carefully step out of it as gracefully as possible but failing miserably. She hops on one foot when the material gets caught on her ankle, gripping a workbench to avoid toppling over.

"Your dad won't mind me using any of these, will he?" Tobias asks.

"No," she says. "The gardener uses them more than he does."

Tobias nods his head, pulling off a couple of different hand saws from their hooks. Beatrice shuffles past him in order to hang her things up, moving her eyes to the side to try and get a glimpse of the man when he walks back outside. When he's gone, she lets out the breath she didn't even realise she was holding in, frowning with both annoyance and confusion at his strictly professional and closed off attitude.

—0—

The next day, Beatrice is sprawled across her bed, reading the book she borrowed from the library. It's only a couple hundred pages long, so she'll have it finished in no time at all. It's a Saturday morning, and the whole family is going to The Charity Fair that's being held in the town centre this afternoon. The Fair is held every month, and it's where people trade produce and sell baked goods and home-crafted items with all profits going to local charities. Their family often sells and donates honey, along with Edith's secret recipe chocolate cake. If you're not a fan of very sweet or chocolaty things, then you'd have to be pretty dauntless in order to swallow a piece. But of course, all cake and chocolate lovers fawn over its moist and spongy mouth-watering deliciousness and _oh my God _Beatrice is salivating at the thought of it. She hears laughter coming from downstairs, and just knows that they've all probably started baking and jarring up the honey.

She was right. When she enters the kitchen, Caleb is sitting on the counter with a piece of paper in hand, grinning ear to ear as he reads out the ingredients to Natalie and Edith while they laugh about the mess they've managed to make. "No, I already saw you put an egg in there, Grandma," Caleb says cheerily.

"Can I help?" Beatrice asks from the doorway. The laughing dies down when she speaks, and Natalie turns around to smile at her.

"Why don't you start writing on the honey jars, Beatrice? You like writing, don't you? You could even do fancy lettering," Natalie says.

"I was thinking that maybe I could make the chocolate frosting…"

"Oh, no. Caleb is going to take care of that, dear."

Beatrice runs her tongue across her teeth and nods tightly, fighting away the annoyance at the fact that her family doesn't even let her help out how she wants. They think that she's only interested in her own thing and wouldn't want to spend time doing something else. So, she starts to scribble on the paper labels for the honey jars, writing down what type of honey is in each and how much it costs.

The fume from the freshly baked cakes float through the kitchen when they're done, making them all excited as ever to try a piece. Once they've cooled and Caleb has frosted them all, they pack away the cakes that are to be taken to the fair, and set their own cakes down in the middle of the table, ready to be cut into. They sit around in silence, filling their mouths with the decadent treat. "Is this one just for us?" Beatrice asks.

"Yep," Caleb says. "We'll have some left over for tomorrow, too."

"Why don't you cut a piece and take it to Tobias, Beatrice? He's working awfully hard out there," Edith says. Beatrice doesn't want to. And it makes her mad that her family only picks times like this to ask her to help out. They seem to always figure out when she doesn't want to do something, and then scold her for being selfish or uncaring. Why should she give her favourite cake to a man that doesn't even greet her? To a man that seems to be oblivious to the concept of _manners_. She huffs and puffs, standing up from her seat to go and collect a fresh plate and fork.

"Why don't _you_ go and cut a piece of cake and take it to Tobias," she mutters under her breath. Unfortunately, though, her brother hears her.

"Beatrice, you should want to save Grandma the journey of heading outside," Caleb says around a mouthful of cake, his teeth and the corners of his mouth smudged with brown. Beatrice rolls her eyes at the goody two-shoes, digging the knife into the cake a little more harshly than what is necessary. Even though she'd like to keep the leftovers all to herself, she still cuts him a hefty slice and plonks it onto the paper plate. She licks her fingers after, since she got a bit of frosting on them…maybe by accident, maybe not.

Once outside, it takes her a while to locate him. Eventually, though, she hears the sound of sawing wood, and remembers that he's been cutting at the back of the house ever since yesterday. Tobias' muscles stand to attention as his arm moves back and forth quickly, his hand clamped around the black plastic saw handle. Sweat drips from every inch of him, his black T-shirt soaked through. Beatrice wonders idly why the sixty-year-old gardener walks around topless but this attractive younger guy doesn't. It's ironic, and probably a good thing, since she wouldn't be able to walk up to him and be comfortable and casual around his bare chest. He stops what he's doing and swipes the back of his hand across his forehead when he sees her, pursing his lips and licking them to stop the drip of sweat above his mouth. Clearing her throat, she walks towards him, "I brought you this," she says simply. She sounds pretty cold, and he can tell that she was practically forced to bring him a slice of cake she most likely wanted all to herself.

"Thank you," Tobias says, taking the plate and fork from her. "Did you make it?"

"No…" Beatrice doesn't know why, but all of a sudden, she wishes she could say yes and sport a proud smile. "My mom and grandma and brother did." _Whilst I was writing out labels since my handwriting is clearly my only talent_, she thinks to herself.

"Chocolate's my favourite," he says, shoveling it into his mouth quickly. He keeps looking at her between forkfuls, trying to figure her out. His stare doesn't go unnoticed, and Beatrice toes the grass with her shoe. He doesn't realise yet that figuring Beatrice out is a lost cause; most people simply can't do it. But Tobias likes to examine people and determine their true intentions, so he's not going to give up easily.

"So, you're from Chicago?" Beatrice blurts out, contorting her face in anticipation of his reaction to her question.

"Yes."

"Why did you come here, then?"

"Are you serious?" He says, brows furrowing, dropping his fork back onto the plate now that he's done with the cake.

"Yes…" she says, inching backwards and swallowing thickly when he walks towards her, staring her down. He hands her the now empty plate, and she takes it from him.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you not to pry?" He asks deadly quiet, his voice rumbling and intimidating. He's only a few inches away from her, blocking the harsh sunlight and causing a shadow to loom over her.

"There's nothing wrong with asking a simple question, I only wanted to start a conversation with you," she says defiantly, staring into his eyes just as intently as he is staring into hers. She just can't understand his reaction toward her attempts to be friendly over the past few days. No one has ever reacted to her this way before. Small talk is common, and something that everybody seems to engage in comfortably. Everybody except for Tobias, she has now discovered, as he continues to frown at her. He seems to be sussing out how to deal with her, a person who clearly isn't easy to intimidate.

"Well, don't." He turns around, returning to the planks of wood and picking up the saw again. Beatrice stands there agape, unable to describe what she's feeling. She shakes her head quickly, walking away from him with the paper plate in her hand. Everyone stares at her when she storms back into the kitchen, stuffing the plate into the trash bin and throwing the fork into the sink, the metal causing a clatter against the stainless steel.

_Bafflement_—that's how she'd describe what she feels.

* * *

><p><strong><span>My Tumblr:<span> yabooklover20 **

**Thank you for the favourites/follows and the reviews some of you wrote for the last chapter, I enjoyed reading your thoughts, please continue :-)**


	3. Chapter 3

**I do not own Divergent or any of its characters. Rights belong to Veronica Roth. **

**Thanks to BK2U for editing this chapter! **

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 3<span>

In reality, it's awkward and pretty gloomy. Beatrice had thought that it would perhaps be interesting to have someone new on the honeybee farm, but so far it has turned out to just be a hindrance.

Tobias wakes up early, like the crack of dawn early. He sets to work pretty much straight away, pausing at noon to wolf down a sandwich made by Edith, and then sometimes heads off in his truck before he cleans up for the day at six in the evening. The banging and sawing noises combine to wake Beatrice up, and prevent her from peacefully reading or writing. The other day she was seeing to the bees as usual while Tobias was rummaging around in the shed. He dropped something in there, causing a huge bang and clatter, which then upset the bees that Beatrice was observing. Just by chance, she'd also forgotten to tighten the cuffs on her sleeves, causing one of the angry bees to fly up her sleeve and sting her soft skin. She yelped lightly and sprinted away from the rest that were swarming around her face, her heart hammering in her chest because _she knows_ that bees don't survive a sting. She made a break back into the shed, her face flushed as she ripped her gloves off and pulled her white sleeve up. Tobias stood there, gaping at her frantic movements while Beatrice's face contorted at the view of the stinger in her arm. Her guilty thoughts annoyed her; she knows that she can't control nature, can't control whether a bee decides to sting or not. But the fact that she forgot to tighten the wrist straps on her beekeeping outfit was _her fault_, it was an act of carelessness that caused the bee to be able to fly up there and become panicked and sting her. It was also Tobias' fault for causing the ruckus in the first place. So when he watched her pull the stinger out with a pair of tweezers and asked her if she was alright, Beatrice muttered something unintelligible at him in annoyance and stormed back into the house. He probably thought that her attitude was a reaction to being stung, rather than a reaction to one of her bees having just died. The realisation made her feel sour.

"Beatrice! Christina's coming up to the house!" Natalie calls from the kitchen, alerting Beatrice who is sitting upstairs.

"Coming!" Beatrice shouts, swiping the paper and pencils from her lap and leaping from her place on the bed. She jogs down the stairs swiftly and excitedly, since she hasn't seen her good friend in nearly a week. Caleb's sitting at the kitchen table, and snidely moves a leg out as Beatrice strides past him. She manages to jump over it at the last second, though, turning around to scowl at her brother. Christina is just climbing the steps of the front porch when Beatrice opens the door, throwing a sideward glance at Tobias who's working nearby.

"Who's that?" Christina silently mouths, pointing her thumb to the right, a wild, giddy smirk on her face. Beatrice rolls her eyes, locks her fingers around Christina's wrist and drags her into the house. "Hello, Mrs. Prior," she greets Natalie. "Hello Doofus," she says to Caleb, who just has time to furrow his brows at his sister's friend before they're both out of the kitchen.

"Could you please try to be a_ little_ more polite to my brother? Even though he's an idiot, I'm the one that gets into trouble for it," Beatrice whines as they heave themselves up the stairs to her bedroom.

"Oh, please," Christina says nonchalantly, dismissing Beatrice with her hand. "Politeness is just deception in pretty packaging."

"Says who?"

"My mom. You know that my parents have a thing about honesty and telling lies." Beatrice sits back down on her bed, as Christina wanders around her room, pausing at the bookshelves to flick through the CD's and choose something to put in the player. "So, who's McHottie and what's he doing on your farm?"

"McAsshole is more like it. He's the new handyman, here for the summer to fix up the house," Beatrice sighs.

"The whole summer?" Christina asks her slyly. She knows she'd sure as hell make good use of an opportunity like that.

"Yes, unfortunately."

"Whatever...you're just so stiff that you can't even appreciate some eye candy when you see it. Oh, and by the way, Uriah told me to give you this," Christina reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small folded card, handing it over to Beatrice.

"What is it?" She asks tentatively, opening up the small card to see a goofy drawing and a scribbled down address.

"A party. Well, not a party, just a few close friends getting together. It's Uriah's birthday and his dad said that he could have people over at their house."

"But this is on the upper side of town, you know my parents won't let me go down there—not for a party."

"I told you, it's _not_ a party. And why wouldn't they let you? Just because uptown doesn't consist of farms and churches and basic inbreds?" She asks simply. Beatrice drags her hands over her face, frustrated already. Abnegation is becoming divided. Once upon a time, it only consisted of farms, ranches and small houses. There had once been a vast swath of empty land adjacent to the interstate, located on a long road that rambled on for miles. But in recent years, developers had bought up all the empty fields, took advantage of how large and flat and cheap they were, and built a bunch of new, modern houses. Her parents tell her that part of town is _trouble_, that the people live differently and hold onto different values and beliefs which they frown on. Beatrice knows better than to believe them. Uriah's father is a firefighter, and his mother works at an office in a nearby town. That hardly spells trouble to her.

"There's no point in arguing about it," Beatrice mutters. She doesn't need to be told that her parents' biases are shallow and prevent her from growing up like a normal teenager; she already knows that. And for once, she just wishes that she didn't have to explain herself to Christina. This is why it's sometimes easier for her to spend time with Susan and Robert Black, the kids that live on the neighbouring farm. Their parents believe similarly to Beatrice's, so she never needs to explain herself to them. They understand her.

"Sneak out," Christina says abruptly.

"What?"

"You heard me, sneak out. My dad's letting me drive his truck there, I could come and pick you up. All you'd have to do is wait until your parents and Caleb fall asleep, and then tiptoe down the stairs super quietly and they'd never know. We'd be back here a couple of hours later."

"I don't know-"

"_Oh, come on!_ What's the worse that will happen to you? They'll ground you? It's not as if you ever leave the farm much anyway."

—0—

And that was that. Beatrice agreed to the stupidest plan ever, and ate her lunch at the table with her head down, thinking that maybe her mother had heard everything and was going to condemn her. It's silly, she knows her mother didn't hear their conversation, she's just being overly paranoid. She's already got butterflies in her stomach, wondering how on earth she's going to sneak out of their creaky house without at least one person waking up and catching her. "Kids, your father and I are just going to Father Joe's for the afternoon, he needs help organising the Mayor's birthday celebration," Natalie says. Everyone mumbles something with food in their mouths, not bothered by whether their parents leave the house or not—at least now they'll get to watch the television on full blast and joke around.

So that's what they do when Andrew and Natalie walk out the door, they all race into the living room calling dibs over the remote. "Christina's the guest, she gets to pick what we watch," Caleb eventually announces when he realises that he's not going to get his own way regardless. They all sit cross-legged on the floor, backs leaning against the couch. It's too hot in the room for them to sit on the fabric amongst the cushions, but eventually Christina's back starts to protest and she waltzes over to the other side of the room, sitting down in the armchair by the open window. She left the remote control behind on the floor, so Caleb seizes the opportunity and turns the channel to some kind of science program.

"Caleb, I don't want to watch that," Beatrice says irritably, fanning her face with a magazine.

"Well, too bad, I do," he replies, too engrossed in the intellectual program to care.

"It's _boring_."

"It's not, it's interesting. And it's much better than those stupid cartoons. I swear I lose about a thousand brain cells every time I watch one of those things."

Beatrice can't stand his snobby, snarky attitude, so she snatches the remote out of his hand and hits him across the back of the head with it. Caleb cries out in pain dramatically, rubbing his head and scowling at her. "Looks like you just lost a thousand more," she smiles gleefully. He goes to push her, and Beatrice falls onto her back on the floor, laughing, just as Christina stands up from the armchair and snatches the discarded remote, stomping her foot down on Caleb as she does. However, they're all interrupted from their melee by the sound of a cough from the doorway. Tobias stands there with his eyebrows raised. Beatrice's eyes widen, embarrassed to be caught in a childish brawl with her brother and friend. She's still lying on the floor, chest heaving from laughing, looking up at him upside-down. He looks even taller from this angle.

"Are your parents around?" Tobias asks, looking at Caleb and Beatrice.

"No, they won't be back until this evening. Is there anything that I can help you with?" Caleb asks, talking and acting like a brown-noser. Christina purses her lips and glances at Beatrice who rolls her eyes, nudging Caleb with her foot.

"No, that's alright. I think I'll wait until they get back," Tobias says in a superior manner, nodding his head tightly before heading out the door.

"Well, he's very patronising," says Caleb when it's just the three of them again.

"He's kind of intimidating," Christina comments, screwing her face up with displeasure. She finds it a shame that the hottie did_,_ in fact, turn out to be an asshole, just like Beatrice said.

—0—

Sneaking out of her house is relatively uneventful. Of course, her parents thought nothing was suspicious about her taking a shower at nighttime, and she got dressed in her party outfit discreetly, lying down on her bed and covering herself up with the bed sheet as if she was going to sleep. Natalie cracked Beatrice's door open to wish her goodnight, but Beatrice was pretending to already be asleep. One bruised knee from climbing through the half-broken back door, a rash on her arm from the overgrown ivy, and one whole hour later, Beatrice is finally walking down her driveway to meet Christina.

"What the hell took you so long," Christina asks, leaning over to open the passenger door for Beatrice.

"It's not easy sneaking out of a house that makes more noise than a band of drummer boys," she hisses, turning on the light in the truck to check the damage to her knee.

"Your legs are covered in bruises."

"They always are," Beatrice laughs, and Christina shakes her head with a small smile.

The party isn't really a party — well, not like the ones that Beatrice has seen in some of the teen chick flick movies on TV. Uriah's parents are apparently here, but she hasn't seen them downstairs yet. When a strange boy offers her a beer in the kitchen, though, she wishes that they were. "I've never seen you around before, do you live off the interstate?" The boy asks her. He has neon green eyes that look clouded with whatever it is he's swallowed.

"No, on one of the farms." Beatrice mutters, pouring herself some soda into a red plastic cup.

"A farm girl. Interesting. You know how to ride a horse?" The boy smirks crudely, edging his way closer and closer to her.

"My farm doesn't have horses on it."

"Then what _does_ it have on it?"

"Alright, how about you just leave her alone and stop asking ridiculous questions?" A deep yet soft voice says from behind them.

"Little Al!" The green-eyed boy exclaims. "How's your old man doing?"

"Would you stop calling me that stupid nickname?" Al says with disdain, looking down on the boy from his tall height. Beatrice stands, leaning against the counters, watching the exchange.

"Whatever, man, I see this girl's taken," he mutters, patting Al on the shoulder half-heartedly before exiting the kitchen. Beatrice decides not to correct the boy by admitting she's not 'taken'; it would probably do more harm than good, and render all of Al's efforts to relieve her from his pestering quite useless. When he's left the room, Al turns around on his heels to smile at her awkwardly, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets because he's always felt kind of shy around Beatrice Prior. Little does she know, Al's not the only boy in town who feels this way about her.

"Sorry about that," he says quietly, with a mirthless laugh that sounds more like a choked exhalation of air.

"Thanks for getting rid of him," she smiles warmly, her hand digging into the bowl of potato chips next to her. "Christina seems to be having a good time."

"I think she's taking the term _letting her hair down_ to a whole new level." The two of them peer out of the archway of the kitchen and into the living room, where Christina is dancing around with Uriah, their drinks spilling out of their cups as they link arms and spin around clumsily. Beatrice and Al share a laugh over their antics, but then Beatrice's eyes traitorously flick to the large clock hanging on the wall, suddenly paranoid about the possibility that her parents might wake up in the night and discover her empty bed. "You're not really into this, are you?" Al asks her, breaking her out of her worrisome imaginings.

"Um…"

"That's okay, I'm getting kind of tired, too. I've been working in the store all day," he says, taking his car keys out of his pockets. "I doubt Christina's going to be done for a while, so do you want me to drop you off at the farm on my way back home?"

"Sure," she says, tipping the remainder of her drink into the sink.

The drive back to her house is awkward since the pair don't really know what to say to each other. Trying to make conversation whilst sitting side by side in a car for ten solid minutes is a whole lot more pressure than simply exchanging their usual greetings and small talk about the weather like they do whenever Beatrice stops by Al's store. It's not even like Beatrice can fill the silence by giving Al directions to the farm since he knows the town like the back of his hand. Eventually, they settle on just listening to the music playing on the radio, Beatrice looking down at her fingers knotted in her lap. Al doesn't take the truck up the gravel driveway for fear of waking Beatrice's parents, so after they both say a tight-lipped 'goodbye_'_, Beatrice walks up the drive in her skimpy sandals, muffling her cries when the stones hurt the soles of her feet. She walks the long way round, rather than going past the side of the house, in order to avoid triggering the security lights. However, this means that she has to make her way through the trees at the back, the ground there a little muddy from when the gardener sprayed water over the bushes with the hose. Beatrice unbuckles and pulls off her suede sandals for fear of ruining them, and steps barefooted over the cool ground. She stuffs the sandals into her shoulder bag, and is quietly making her way onto the front field when she hears rustling from the bushes and nearly jumps out of her skin.

"It's only me," Tobias says, holding his hands up.

"What are you doing out here at this time of the night?" Beatrice pants, her eyes still wide with shock.

"I couldn't sleep and realised that I left my headphones in my truck, so I was just on my way out to get them. But I think the real question is what are _you_ doing out here?" He asks her, a pointed yet warm look on his face. This is probably the longest sentence Tobias has ever willingly said to Beatrice, and it surprises them both. He could have gone with the old _it's none of your business_, or just completely ignored her altogether. But he hadn't, he'd offered her a reason, a little insight into his mind. The fact that he couldn't sleep is a vulnerability that Tobias suddenly wishes he hadn't admitted to her. But, it's too late to take it back now.

"I'm allowed to do what I want. I'm sixteen years old, not a child," she says sternly.

"Sixteen? I thought you were younger."

This statement vexes Beatrice, and causes her mouth to scrunch up like she's tasted something sour. She's heard it on numerous occasions: comments on how short she is and how she still looks the same as when she was twelve. In the past, she's even received the sly occasional dig from bitchy girls about how she's practically flat-chested. "Anyway," she abruptly says, turning the conversation away from the topic of her age. "This is my home, I can do what I want."

"But you probably shouldn't be hiding around in the bushes on your own at night," he says to her simply, readopting his bored attitude.

"I can take care of myself."

"Undoubtedly," Tobias replies. Sarcasm isn't particularly evident in his tone of voice, and Beatrice thinks that's peculiar, so she just presumes he's being sarcastic anyway. She smiles with mock sweetness, and turns around to pace up the field on her way to the house. However, his call of her name "Beatrice?" causes her steps to falter. She turns back to face him again, looking at him expectantly. She stands as still as a statue as his eyes roam down her body, head to toe, but thankfully they don't linger. "Put some shoes on," he says, leaving her to head back over to the driveway.

Their conversation is still fresh in her mind as Beatrice slips into bed, successfully avoiding waking her parents. Even though it was clipped, slightly teasing and strictly out of concern for her welfare…Tobias _had _broken the ice. Whether he liked it or not.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm hoping to get the next chapter up in a weeks time. And I'm sorry this one's a little late, but if you've been following Jaded or my tumblr then you'll know I've been busy and I was unable to update my stories for a couple of weeks. <strong>

**Thank you to everyone who has followed/favourited and of course taken the time to write reviews. Please continue :-) **


	4. Chapter 4

**I do not own Divergent or it's characters. Rights go to Veronica Roth. **

**As always, thanks BK2U for editing :) **

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 4<span>

A hoverfly, as the name suggests, is a flying insect often found hovering around flowers from which they feed off the nectar. They're pollinators, but not predators, since the only threat they bear is in their resemblance to a bee or a wasp, sporting the familiar black and yellow warning stripes.

Beatrice hovers.

Specifically, she hovers around Tobias. She'll casually follow him around the outside of the house where he works, watching him measure, cut, sand and carry things. Tobias thinks it's bizarrely innocent of her—almost like being followed around by a young child asking _whatcha' doin'? _He didn't find this childish behaviour at all bizarre during his first couple of weeks here, since he thought she _was_ a child…thirteen years old, perhaps. When he first saw her, he thought she was a pretty looking girl with wondrous, wide, icy blue eyes. But now that he knows she's only a couple of years younger than he is, those kinds of thoughts, the ones he has about her appearance, would be classified as rather inappropriate. Because there's a difference between calling a child pretty and calling a young woman pretty…it suggests that he's attracted to her in _that_ way.

The intriguing girl seems to _always_ be doing something with the bees around the time that he retires to his little guest house. Tobias wonders if there's any point at all to her disturbing the buzzing creatures so often, or if she does it solely to catch his attention. Just the other day, Beatrice was observing him as she sat on the steps at the back door, licking an ice cream cone whilst he was sawing wood, her gaze totally confident and unfaltering. Again, it was as if she was begging for him to notice her or say something to her.

He's also noticed her scribbling down words in a scruffy looking notebook on more than one occasion, her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth, intense concentration evident on her face. It prompted a humorous exchange between them, actually, since Tobias had managed to regain the upper hand position as a result. "What are you writing?" He had asked her.

"Nothing," she said a little too quickly, snapping the notebook shut and looking up at him with wide eyes.

"It's got to be something."

"I'm not writing anything…I'm…_scribbling_."

"Scribbling?"

"Yes," she said sternly, swallowing thickly as her cheeks heated up to a perfect rosy periwinkle pink.

"You must do a lot of scribbling then," Tobias replied, a sly smirk spreading his lips outwards. He knew he had done it. Finally done it. Asked a question that got her stumped and embarrassed. She had done it to him often enough—asked invasive questions and caused him to stutter without even a bat of her eyelids.

"Yes, I do," she muttered. Tobias accepted her pathetic answer, the grin still spread across his face. He'll always remember that specific afternoon as a triumphant one.

Today, though, he's walking across the front field on his way to the tool shed, spinning a hammer around in his hand. Beatrice is right behind him, walking in long strides to match his bigger footprints left in the morning's dewy grass. She's not really paying attention to him, her concentration focused on trying to walk with a powerful stance like he does. So, when he suddenly turns around to face her, she carries on walking and her nose bumps into his chest. Tobias grips onto her shoulders firmly and pushes her backwards, so that there's space between them as she stands in front of him. She looks confused at his abruptness, rubbing her nose where it was squished against the firm planes of his body.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" He asks her with a sigh, but Beatrice stays silent. "You know, instead of following me around all day."

At first, all she does is shrug and toe at the mud on the ground with her shoe. But then, she mutters, "No, not really."

Tobias admits to himself that her bleak answer makes his heart sink a little bit. He finds it sad because he can see something fascinating about her in her eyes—her wonder, her sternness, her insistent and stubborn attitude. Most of all, how utterly awake she is compared to everyone else around here. However, this town will get to her soon enough, Tobias knows. She'll probably stay on a farm forever, living a humdrum life of baking and cleaning and small-town gossip. Soon enough, she'll look as beaten down as the rest of them. That fire in her eyes will burn out until there's nothing left of her except for her listless body and crushed soul.

Tobias understands all too well what it feels like to be bored and lonely. Even though he hates to think it, his childhood _has _permanently affected him; who he is, his attitude, and the way that he interacts with people. He wouldn't wish his tainted life on anybody. If watching him work and following him around outside is all it takes to entertain Beatrice, then so be it. He doesn't really mind it anyway. He finds her amusing. So he decides that from this day on, he will let her hover.

* * *

><p><strong>Yep, super short chapter compared to my others, but that's the way that it worked out. Like in novels, not every chapter is 3,000 words long, and for this update I found it hard to conform to that :-P <strong>

**But on the plus side, it means I got to update earlier than expected, and I also think the next chapter (which will be the normal length) should hopefully be up by the weekend. **

**You're all wonderful, for writing encouraging reviews that keep me going even when I feel dead tired and in way over my head. Please keep it up, because without your support there would be no story :) **


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Robert Black, the eldest child and only son of the Black family, works on their livestock farm and is Beatrice's romantic interest. No, correction, Beatrice's _forced_ romantic interest. He has a killer smile, is quite tall, and isn't bad looking. This is all teamed with the way that he speaks in a codeine haze and possesses two sturdy arms that circle and embrace you at any chance they get. Therefore, not so surprisingly, girls fall at his feet. Except for Beatrice, of course.

"What do you imagine they would say?" Susan—Robert's sister—whispers to Beatrice as they stand in the doorway of the family room. "If they knew your true feelings…"

"And what _are_ my true feelings, exactly?" Beatrice presses, momentarily turning her gaze away from her family where they sit with the Blacks to raise a pointed eyebrow at Susan.

"You do not like my brother."

"Oh, please," she scoffs. "He's friendly and intelligent and funny…what's not to like?"

"_I mean,_ you don't like him in terms of marriage material."

"I'm sixteen years old," Beatrice says with breathless shock, even though she's fully educated on the fact that her parents think that Robert would make an appropriate husband for her in the future.

"Yes, but we all talk about 'someday' in this town. Who else would you grow old with? My mother says it's slim pickings out there," Susan giggles. But, then her cheeks slowly begin to form a humiliated blush because of the way Beatrice is staring at her. Susan knows it's wrong to pry, and even more wrong to ask someone for the scoop solely to get a kick out of it.

"Then your mother and I think very differently."

"You've met someone else?"

"No…" Now it's Beatrice's turn to become pink-cheeked. "I was just trying to make a point."

Susan presents her with a knowing grin, and leaves her side to join her parents and brother on the couch. Beatrice could sit next to her brother on the floor and join in with the jokes and games, but today— as always— her mind is somewhere else. Deciding that her presence won't be missed, she quietly leaves the doorway and walks through the kitchen and onto the front porch where she breathes in the scent of freshly cut grass, a cold drink in her hand. Her eyes are only closed for a moment before she hears the sound of heavy breathing. Lazily blinking them open, she's greeted with the sight of Tobias standing in front of her, sweat dripping from every inch of him as he removes one of his heavy duty work gloves and swipes at his brow with the back of his hand. "Any chance of getting a glass of water?" He asks, eyes squinting against the sun.

"Of course," she says quietly, tilting her head to gesture for him to come into the kitchen. "You know, you should probably start wearing a colour other than black if you're going to be standing under the blazing heat of the sun all day." She walks over to the sink, but only white mugs and tea cups are left. The stool that she normally uses to stand on in order to reach into the taller kitchen cabinets is also missing, probably Caleb's doing, so she has to stand on her tip-toes and stretch up as far as she can to try and retrieve a large enough glass for Tobias.

It's the heat of his body behind her and the way that his chest brushes against her back that makes her almost crumble. That, or burst into flames.

He's pressed against her, his arm moving past hers where it's frozen in mid-air, easily grabbing a glass that was way out of her reach. She doesn't know what to do—her ears ring, her heart thumps, and she feels like yelling at her stomach for doing so many somersaults. Her reaction to Tobias' proximity is mind boggling, a stupid amount of nerves that she's never felt before. Is she scared of him? She doesn't know.

"You can put your hand back down now," he says in her ear, a grin on his face. Beatrice gulps, quickly dropping her arm so that it falls by her side instead.

He can smell her. Oh Jesus, he shouldn't have done that. Shouldn't have taken in such a deep breath when his nose was only inches away from her hair. She doesn't smell like he thought she would...not in the slightest. At first glance, he thought she'd smell of strawberries or something else innocent. But no, her scent is muskier than that, more mature. It's floral, but in a way that's not totally pure; it's tinged with spices and seduction. He stands there, a dumb look on his face, until Beatrice clears her throat and snatches the glass out of his hand. She walks over to the sink, running the cold water tap for a short while before using it to fill the glass. "Your water," she mutters to him, staring down at the floor as she holds the glass out in front of her. All Tobias can do is take the drink from Beatrice with a tight-lipped "thank you" before heading back outside.

—0—

"Well, look who it is!" A familiar voice yells from the other side of the road. Beatrice mutters a curse word under her breath, and holds her book a little tighter to her chest as she bows her head and jogs down the steps of the library. It's Marlene and Uriah, but she doesn't want to be bothered with them today. "Beatrice!" Uriah repeats, this time running up to her and clasping both of his hands on top of her shoulders.

"Oh, hey guys," Beatrice greets them quietly.

"What did you get this time?" Marlene asks her, attempting to pull the book away from Beatrice's grip to get a look at the title. "How boring," she laughs with a shake of her head. "It's time you had some real fun!"

"Yeah, we haven't seen you around in a couple of weeks," Uriah chimes in. "And we doubt it's because of all the crazy fun you've been having without us."

"You know that I have to help around the farm and stuff," she shrugs in response.

"We know that…but how long does it take to squeeze the honey out of a few insects?"

Marlene and Beatrice both look at each other before bursting into a fit of laughter at Uriah's dumb comment. His disinterest and ignorance can be somewhat humorous. "Come on," Marlene says. "We were just gonna hang out for the afternoon, you can come with us."

Beatrice didn't really think that 'hang out' meant breaking into Old Joe's farmland. But here she is, scaling a dilapidated barbed wire fence with two casual friends that she knows from school. Old Joe's farm is at the back of the Priors' honeybee farm. Since his wife died, though, he's let the place turn to ruins and now only keeps a few cows and chickens to get milk and eggs. "This is a bad idea," Beatrice states when she lands on the ground in a cat crouch, her shirt a little torn from the fence, her hands dusty from the ground.

"Why would you say that?" Uriah questions.

"Because it's trespassing. We're not supposed to be here."

"Oh, _chillax_. We do it all the time. Don't we, Uri?" Marlene says, Uriah nods his head and smiles at her. The two of them embark on a trek up the small grassy hill which leads them out of the ditches at the back of the farm to where some of the old abandoned outhouses are located. Beatrice chews on her bottom lip for a moment before finally deciding to follow them, having to jog a little in order to catch up.

"It's locked," Beatrice comments when they reach a small barn in the very corner of the farm, pointing at the rusted padlock that secures two metal rings together.

"Nope, we just put it like that," Marlene says, deftly pulling the padlock open and removing it from the metal rings. "See? It's so rusted that you can make it look like it's closed when it actually isn't." She closes the padlock again to demonstrate her technique to Beatrice, but the lock doesn't click to indicate it has closed properly. "Joe never checks that they're locked, we've seen him just shine a flashlight on the doors to see if they've got a padlock on them."

"Even so, there isn't anything valuable in this one. Just really old, rancid bales of hay," Uriah adds. Rancid indeed. Beatrice can smell the sweet scent of rotting horse hay when they walk into the damp, humid barn. There are a couple of bales left, but they've been defiled by rats or other small creatures, and the rest that are on the floor look brown and sticky.

"Gross," she says, pinching her nose shut with two fingers. "Why do you guys hang out in here?"

"Because…it's the only place that we can get away with smoking these," Marlene says, holding up a white and gold packet of cigarettes. Beatrice's eyes widen, and she no longer bothers to pinch her nose because the smell of rot isn't the most offensive thing in this place anymore. "You look like I've just pulled a gun on you," Marlene and Uriah both laugh at her.

"Well, what are you planning on doing with those?"

"Smoking them, duh," Uriah laughs. "We don't do it _all_ the time…just for fun when we've got nothing else to do."

"For fun?" Beatrice parrots. She stands there whilst the other two make themselves comfortable on what looks to be a bale of hay covered in black plastic wrap. Uriah pulls a long tan and white cylinder out of the packet, closing his lips around it as Marlene strikes a match and holds it to the end of the cigarette, letting the flame lick the tip as Uriah sucks in. "You know, a hay barn is probably the worst place to come to light matches and stuff."

"It's a good thing that this place isn't a functioning hay barn then, isn't it?" says Marlene. "The floor is damp, because the hay is so old. And the bad smell actually disguises the fumes of the smoke somewhat."

"Some parts of it may be dry," Beatrice says under her breath, toeing her shoe into the mould in order to kick the top layer off and reveal fresher-looking straw underneath.

"I think you need this more than I do," Uriah sniggers, holding out the cigarette for Beatrice.

"I don't smoke," she comments sternly.

"There's a first time for everything," he says wryly. "Gotta grow up soon, you know."

"I hardly view smoking a cigarette as some kind of twisted rite of passage."

"Just one drag won't kill you. Go on, see what it's like…" He holds the cigarette further in front of Beatrice, and for a split second she considers taking it. _No_, she mentally scolds herself. She's seen people smoking on her TV screen, and always wondered what it tastes like. Is it just like breathing air? Does it make you feel good? _No._ Curiosity is what killed the cat.

...But satisfaction brought it back.

_No!_ Just when she's about to take the cigarette out of Uriah's hand and put out the damned poisonous thing, the barn door flies open. There Old Joe stands, livid, with his rifle clutched in his hands. Marlene and Uriah manage to escape him, but Beatrice isn't as lucky.

—0—

The first thing Andrew Prior and Tobias Eaton hear that evening is a lot of high-pitched protesting. Then there are the grunts of an old man, the whining noises of a girl, and the sound of dragging feet on gravel. Andrew sets his paper down on the kitchen table, and walks out onto the front porch. Tobias stops sanding the paintwork around the window frame and turns around to face the field, holding a hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun and get a better look at what the hell's going on. His expression is flabbergasted when he sees Beatrice being pulled up towards the house by a disheveled man; so is Andrew's for that matter. "Beatrice?" He says in shock, watching his daughter get dragged up the steps of the porch by Old Joe.

"Caught your daughter smoking cigarettes on my land," Joe exclaims, pushing Beatrice in front of her father so harshly she stumbles for a moment. The action makes Tobias' eyebrows furrow.

"Is that true?" Andrew asks, fire in his eyes.

"No. I wasn't smoking cigarettes."

"I'm shocked to find you've raised a liar," Joe quips, his Southern accent thick and gritty. "Not only was this little missy trespassing on my farm there…she was also sitting with her little friends with a cigarette between her two fingers. I saw it myself. Now these eyes may not be as good as they used to be, but I sure can tell the difference between a kid puffin' on a tobacco stick and a kid that's _not_ puffin' on a tobacco stick."

Andrew gives Beatrice one long, hard look before leaning close towards her. He inhales, and of course catches the scent of cigarette smoke. What happens next shocks them all. He leans down, and slaps a hand across both of her legs. The sound of harsh skin contact and the light yelp from Beatrice stirs something deep within Tobias. He sands the wooden window frame so hard that it splits in two, emitting a loud cracking noise. The hand that was using the sanding paper slips down, and his flesh slices against the now sharply splintered wood. The three of them turn to look at him, the whole situation becoming more dramatic by the minute. "You got something to say about that, boy?" Old Joe says to Tobias, a grey straggly eyebrow raised. Beatrice watches as he squares his shoulders and stares Joe down, all while simultaneously pulling a rag out of his pocket and pressing it against the fresh wound on his hand. The look of domination is enough to make the old man concede and turn his attention back to Beatrice and Andrew. "I suggest you start doing a better job of teaching her right from wrong. And, I ain't talking about those cigarettes. I don't want any goddamned kids on my land again, got it?"

"Got it. We apologise, don't we, Beatrice?" Andrew says sternly. Beatrice nods her head glumly.

"Well, that's settled then," he says, and hobbles down the porch steps. For a moment, the two of them- plus Tobias- just stand there, staring at their feet. Since her father is acting so out-of-character, Beatrice expects him to keep the ball rolling by saying something to Tobias about the broken window frame, but he doesn't.

"Get inside, you're grounded for a week," Andrew mutters to Beatrice. He storms off down the field, probably on his way to the work sheds so he can expel his anger onto something other than his daughter. Tobias' eyes drift down Beatrice's slight figure, taking note of the angry red colour her legs have turned before she quietly walks into the house, her head defiantly held high as if the whole exchange hadn't fazed her in the slightest. But then he looks through the window and into the kitchen where she now stands, and what Tobias sees next causes his lips to part and his mouth to hang open ever-so-slightly. She breaks down. The girl that he thought couldn't be broken or startled or upset is sobbing, her hand gripping onto a kitchen chair to hold her weight as her head bows over. He doesn't make a single move to walk away from the window, or even to walk into the kitchen and comfort her. Why should he? It isn't his place to do so. His fingers twitch by his side, his chest rises and falls noticeably and he just can't for the life of him pry his eyes away from looking at her. The hot, wet blood trickles down his palm and along his fingertips, spotting the floor as he watches the back of Beatrice. In a matter of seconds, her head lifts up again and she swipes her hand under her nose. Then, she turns her head to the left, and her eyes lift slightly as she catches sight of him through the window. They both look like statues—Tobias standing lax, and Beatrice standing with her head uncomfortably strained, her back still facing him. She peers at him through the corners of her eyes, her eyelashes almost disguising the crystal grey colour that he now knows holds something much more than simple naiveté.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks to <em><span>BK2U<span>_ for editing this chapter**

**Sorry for my disappearance, I know I've been updating less and less lately but I just don't have the time to be writing regularly anymore. A few people have asked me if I'm finishing the story or for when I'm updating (and some annoying ones have demanded it, lol.) But just so you know, I wouldn't abandon a story unless it was for a good or important reason. Yes I won't be maintaining a regular updating schedule like I used to but I won't leave you all hanging if I can help it, either. I hope you understand that writing fic is the least of my priorities- I do it because I find it fun. I don't get paid for it or anything, the only reward I get out of it is the enjoyment and your words and reviews, so thanks for that :) **

**My tumblr: yabooklover20**


End file.
